by Ros Baxter
Nothing had ever been the same.
The elderly florist who had been hovering in the background surprised Steffy by suddenly appearing above her. “Do you need any help, sweetheart?” Her voice was soft and her eyes kind.
Do I need any help? Steffy thought about the tumult of emotions running though her brain and assailing her heart. Yes, she needed help. She needed her mother. She needed her father. But neither of them could be there for her today. She knew her mother had her own demons, and that today would be difficult for her. She also knew Ridge would be a mess in Paris, reliving the moment his daughter died in his arms, over and over again. She felt her heart trip at the thought that soon she would be back there with him.
“I’m … I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay, dear,” the woman said, guiding her over to chairs situated in a little patch of sun under a pretty awning on the pavement. “Sit for a moment and I’ll fetch you a glass of water while you collect yourself. There are plenty of gorgeous bouquets here, but I promise you none of them are going anywhere.”
Steffy allowed herself to be fussed over. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the quiet moment with the sun on her face.
Before long, the woman was back with a tall glass of water with ice and a tiny slice of lime floating in it. She was wearing a simple calico apron and blue jeans. Her silver hair was pinned in an elegant bun at the base of her neck, not unlike the style Steffy had chosen today, and the woman had lively dark blue eyes that twinkled through the concern etched in the lines around them. She squeezed Steffy’s shoulder and looked at her with concern. “You would be surprised, my dear,” she said, and Steffy noticed the very slight Southern accent for the first time. “People think flower stores are all about joy and love. Sometimes they’re the hardest places to be. You just sit as long as you need to and give me a holler when you’re ready to start again.”
Steffy nodded and smiled her thanks. The woman’s unexpected kindness had touched her, and she felt her eyes beginning to mist over. The woman slipped away, and Steffy could see her making a show of keeping herself busy over near a large stand of greenery.
Steffy was grateful for the moment of peace. She picked up the long, cool glass and ran it over her forehead. She felt suddenly hot and scared. Going to the cemetery was always difficult, but this year it seemed especially so. She took a slow sip, and felt better as the cool liquid settled in her throat. Then she leaned back in the comfortable chair again, to catch her breath and settle her thoughts before returning to the flowers.
She closed her eyes and thought about her plans. She would not think about Phoebe, not yet. There would be plenty of time for that today. For now she would simply sit here and make plans. Firstly, she needed to drop her sketches in to Forrester Creations. She would deliver them to Thomas, and talk to him about what was needed next. It was strange—she’d had such high hopes of launching this new line when she returned from Paris, of starting fresh. But now she knew she was not ready. She would give the sketches to her brother; he would know how to work with them to ensure they shone. She would also let Thomas know that she was taking more time out, and ask him to deal with the administration of it.
And the fallout.
Then she would head to the cemetery, get this over with. Her mind skipped over that part; it would be here soon enough. She didn’t need to dwell on it in advance.
There was much to organize. She needed to make some more arrangements to go back to Paris. Sort out the penthouse, let her father know that she was coming back, to spend some proper time with him. That she would stay with him until she was ready to come back. If she was ever ready.
And then there was Liam.
She shut that thought down. Like so much else, she would deal with thinking about Liam later.
After she’d done what she needed to do.
Steffy made a mental to-do list, and felt her sanity and self-possession return. This day was always hard, every year. She just needed to get through it. She decided to sit for one more moment in the sun, eyes closed, before tackling the current task—selecting exactly the right flowers.
*
Rick’s breath caught when he saw Steffy sitting in a patch of sun, her dark hair pulled severely back from her face.
She looked thinner than he remembered. And very beautiful.
His hand shook, and his fingers froze on the enormous bunch of daisies he had just selected. Daisies, for Phoebe. And here was her sister, still and serene like a moment frozen in time.
He wasn’t ready. He needed to talk to her, needed to make things right with Steffy, and with her mother. But this was not the moment. He had wanted to go to Phoebe first, make his peace, then seek out Steffy and Taylor, see if he could make them understand that he was different. He had changed. And he was sorry.
But now Steffy was here, in the same florist. Surely it was some kind of sign?
He shook his head, realizing that it was logical that Steffy would also choose the florist next to Dayzee’s, close to Forrester Creations. She was probably going in to the office to get some work done, and had stopped off here on the way.
But there was something about her face, captured in that yellow shaft of sunlight. He could not take his eyes off her. That bone structure, so delicate and captivating, like Phoebe’s, and yet such a different look. She was like a sculpture from a far away time. Even from this distance, Rick could see the full pinkness of Steffy’s sultry lips. He tried not to remember what they tasted like—candy and musk. The tiny indentation above her top lip looked like some god had placed his little finger there and created it as a work of art. Like this, her eyes closed, Rick could see the full thickness of her dark lashes, resting lightly in her cheeks.
Yes, she was beautiful.
But he knew more as well. He knew that she was not the person everyone thought to her to be. In the wake of Phoebe’s death, they had been drawn together, moths to the flame. Everyone had been outraged, thought it was so wrong. But it hadn’t been a game, not that time. It had been the yearning of two souls who recognized something in each other.
Of course, it hadn’t worked—could never have worked. Not then, with the critical eyes of the world on them, and with all their own grief to manage as well.
Rick knew that Steffy was not the woman the world saw. He knew she could be hard and wild. But he also knew she was soft and caring, and that she yearned to prove herself.
Like him, he thought with a start, wondering why the thought had never occurred to him before.
Then Steffy opened her eyes, and he was rooted to the spot by the power of that blue gaze.
*
“Rick?” Steffy blinked twice, sure she must have napped in this little patch of sunlight after her sleepless night. “Rick?”
It had been some time since she had seen him but as she shook her head to clear it, he was still there. And it was definitely him, Rick Forrester: the last person she needed to see today.
She felt her lip curl as she watched him clutching the huge bunch of flowers, and wondered who he was trying to impress this time. She tried to ignore his boyish beauty. He was wearing a sharp black suit that she recognized as Italian, and it sat well on his muscular frame. She could not remember him looking so fit before she had left for Paris, but the suit showed off his broad shoulders and tapered waist to perfection. His hair was styled boyishly and skimming his collar, and he was very blond too. He must have been making the most of the warm weather, taking the yacht out. His skin was brown, and it showed off his blue eyes.
A red mark stained one cheek.
“Steffy.” He nodded. She noticed the haunted look in his eyes, as though he’d seen a ghost. She felt like she’d seen one too.
Was it just because of the significance of this day that she was remembering their time together in such vivid detail? She knew that the world saw Rick as a cad, and she knew better than anyone that he could play the game. She thought about how he had moved from Phoebe, to their mother, to her—a
ll to get to Ridge. The memory made her shudder.
But there was more to him, too.
Or maybe she was just feeling generous because she was tired and emotional.
She sighed. “Sit down,” she said, motioning to the chair beside her. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m buying flowers,” he said. “For Phoebe.”
Steffy felt as though a knife had been driven into the center of her. “Phoebe?” Hearing him say it, seeing him here, knowing what he was doing, made it somehow all so much more real. “Me too,” she said, and then her voice broke and she bowed her head. She would not let Rick see her cry. She blinked hard to control the prickly tears that burned behind her eyes. “I’m doing the same. But …” She willed her voice to stay strong. “I’m still choosing. I just needed to … take a minute.”
“I get it.” Something about Rick’s face as he said the words gave Steffy pause. She really believed that he did get it. Up close, she could see that he, too, looked tired. And not just more fit than she remembered, but harder too. Older.
Grief had left its mark upon them all.
Steffy’s hand went to her stomach again. She saw Rick notice the gesture, and waited for him to change the subject in some smooth segue to lighten the mood. But he didn’t.
“Steffy,” he said, and this time it was his voice that broke. “I heard your news. I‘ve been wanting to tell you I’m sorry, so sorry for you. But I didn’t know you were back. It must have been awful.”
Oh my God. Could he really mean the miscarriage? Her baby? She was so used to people not mentioning her baby, the unspoken elephant in the room. Her father. Liam. It felt strange to hear someone say it so simply, and so carefully.
He reached out and touched her hand, very lightly, then grasped it in his. “Steffy.”
She couldn’t look at him. It was so hard to hold it together, and if he was nice to her, she might dissolve. The last thing she needed today was to throw herself at Rick Forrester.
“Steffy. Are you okay?” Rick turned Steffy’s hand over in his, and stroked his thumb lightly across the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.
“No,” she said finally, looking into those clear blue eyes. “No, I don’t think I am.”
He nodded, then stood and shrugged out of his jacket. She watched his broad shoulders ripple through the lush cotton of his white shirt. He sat back down, this time in the chair beside her, and picked up her hand again. “Is this okay?” He looked right into Steffy’s eyes. Up close, she could see that the angry red welt on his face was fresh and raw.
He was clearly having a bad day too.
Before she knew what she was doing, she reached up a finger to trace the mark. A nerve jumped in Rick’s cheek. “What happened?”
“It was my fault,” he began.
Steffy surprised herself by laughing. “You did this to yourself?”
He laughed too, and shook his head. “No, no. It was Caroline.”
“Oh.” Steffy should have realized. There was a time—perhaps many times—when she could have happily shredded the skin from Rick Forrester’s face too. But somehow, that all seemed long ago. Suddenly all that mattered was that Rick was sitting here with her, holding her hand, and knowing that this day mattered to him too; hurt for him too. She appreciated that he had asked about her baby. Not in any way that implied she should somehow be over it, or it shouldn’t have mattered, but in a way that seemed to understand that she would feel especially vulnerable about her baby today, when she was remembering the other great loss in her life. “What did you do to her?”
Rick sighed and ran his hands through his hair, leaning forward to put his elbows on his thighs and place his head in his hands. “I—I’m not sure really. Well, I ended it.” He smiled at Steffy, a small, self-deprecating smile. “That never goes down too well with women, in my experience.”
“Oh,” Steffy said again. “No. We don’t like it much.”
Steffy turned Rick’s words over in her mind. She had assumed Rick and Caroline were strong. It just went to show you could never really know the inner workings of other people’s lives.
Rick turned to face her, and she felt blown off course by the powerful searchlight of his hot blue stare. He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “Honestly,” he said. “I don’t think that was the biggest problem for her today.”
Steffy nodded. He wanted to tell her something. Something abut this, this bubble they were sitting in together, he wanted to talk. Really talk. She could see it in his face, in the taut lines of his body. “Go on,” she said.
“I told her I’d been thinking a lot about Phoebe. About the past. About … everything.”
Rick’s eyes darted away from Steffy’s at these last words and Steffy was sure he had more to say, but she didn’t want to push him.
“We certainly have some past,” she said, smiling gently at him.
She closed her eyes again, trying to capture this moment, the sun, the unexpected companionship with this unlikely friend, before she had to get up and do the hardest parts of this day. Then something occurred to her. Somehow she felt sure, in this moment, that he would understand.
“Can I show you something?”
Rick nodded and Steffy reached for her tote. She retrieved the sketches and passed them over to him.
“I did these last night,” she said. “I know it sounds kind of crazy but I … I really felt like Phoebe was kind of guiding me.” There was something about these sketches. They were part of coming to terms with all that had happened. They were part of this new life she was trying so hard to build. And, weirdly, she could not shake the feeling that this accidental meeting in this florist was part of it too.
Rick looked at the scrolled papers lying on the coffee table in front of them, then nodded at her and leaned forward to pick them up. She felt like a little girl showing someone the pictures she had drawn at preschool, she was so eager to see his reaction. She tried to contain her breathing and sit back as he unrolled the first sketch. His eyes roamed over it.
Time stretched painfully as he looked at the sketch and said nothing. Finally, he lay it down on the coffee table and repeated the procedure with the two remaining designs. Steffy’s nerves were at breaking point as she watched him, but she also knew him well enough to know that this was how he operated. He was careful, methodical. He may have done some crazy things out of fear and envy in his private life, but in all matters professional, he was calculated and cool.
As he finished surveying the last sketch, he turned back to Steffy, and she could see that his eyes were wet. “Steffy,” he said, taking her hand again. “I don’t know what to say.” Again, she felt that strong thumb stroke the inner side of her wrist, delicately. She could tell it was meant as a soothing gesture, but it was lighting heat along her veins, making her a little dizzy. She shook her head. What was she thinking?
“Just say something,” Steffy said.
Rick now took both her hands in his. “The sketches are very powerful, Steffy. The designs alone are … extraordinary, truly unique. They could spearhead a whole new look for Forrester Creations. I am just so impressed.”
“But?” She could hear it in his voice.
Rick picked up her hand and kissed it, and now she knew she wasn’t imagining the tears in his eyes. “But they are so much more than that, aren’t they? There is so much emotion in those sketches, Steffy, they are more like works of art. And then there’s the model.”
“Phoebe,” Steffy said, bowing her head.
“Phoebe.” He dragged in a ragged breath. He pulled her into him, nestling her under one strong arm and wrapping the other around her. “What it must have cost you, taken from you, to create those, I can’t imagine. Just looking at them makes me feel like I’ve witnessed something private. Tragic.”
Steffy nodded. “Something is different this year,” she agreed. “It’s hard to put into words, Rick. But I feel like … Every year I go through this, the remembering, the pain. And I’ve wo
ndered if I’ll ever move beyond it. But I know now. Since the baby, I’m not the same person I was. I’ve grown up, Rick. This year matters more than ever. This year it’s time for me to say goodbye to Phoebe properly and move on.”
There was more, and she wanted to tell him: the other thing about her baby. For some reason she wanted to tell him. She had not been able to tell Liam, or even her father, but she wanted to tell Rick, right here, in this moment. But something stopped her.
Rick squeezed her tight, and she could not remember ever feeling so completely understood and accepted.
“Let it go, Steffy,” he said. “You just need to let it go.” He patted her back soothingly. “I believe you when you say that Phoebe was guiding you last night. She was guiding you toward a new beginning. And I want you to know, despite everything that happened, everything I did, I’m here for you too.”
At his words, Steffy felt herself melt against his hard, strong chest. Tears pricked her eyes again but she would not cry. But she could let herself lean in and let go with someone she knew understood. And not just that Rick knew and understood about Phoebe. It was more than that. He understood her story, understood about having done things in your life that you are ashamed of, and being marred by them. About wanting to change and grow, and become something better. It felt good to lean against his strength and know that she was accepted—by someone just like her.
As she sat in his embrace, she felt her strength gather. She wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. At one point she heard Rick whisper gently to the proprietor, “We’re okay, thank you.”
After a while, she felt ready to come up for air. She looked at Rick’s beautiful white shirt, stained with mascara from the unshed tears trapped on her lashes. “I’m so sorry,” she said, trying ineffectually to rub at the spots on the fabric.
“Don’t worry about it for a moment, Steffy,” Rick said, pulling her back into him. “It’s a shirt. It’s nothing compared to what you’re feeling.”
This time, as he pulled her into him, Steffy became aware of Rick as more than a convenient place to gather courage. She felt the long bunch of his muscles under the shirt and inhaled the sweet, salty smell of him. She felt his rough cheek pressing down on the top of her hair and brushing her neck. And with it all came the memories. Rick had been such an attentive, exciting lover. He had made her feel as though she were the only woman in the world, despite all their history, and all the reasons she should not feel that way. He’d made her feel more secure and loved and special than Liam had ever been able to. With Liam, Hope always lurked in the background, like a dark ghost. Rick had looked at her like she was the only one who could save his soul.
